


1,000 Kilometers From Heartbreak

by TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Beach Holidays, Biting, Blood Drinking, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Summer, Vampire Bites, Vampires, summer flings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26003890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard/pseuds/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard
Summary: The best way to get over Heartbreak is with a little bit of Romance.
Relationships: Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 14
Kudos: 143
Collections: Summer Solstice 2020





	1,000 Kilometers From Heartbreak

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hyunchans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyunchans/gifts).



> Written for the SKZ Summer Solstice 2020 fest.
> 
> For the prompt: "vampire au: a moves to a beach side down where b resides - little does a know that he catches b’s eye, and he makes it his mission to get to know a over the summer, maybe even have a lil bite. bonus points if the human has a biting kink"
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

The beachside town of Romance is larger than Minho thinks it would be, considering all of the perfectly curated photographs of the idyllic coastline he sifted through online, but perhaps it is a good thing that he’s tucking himself away in a densely-packed gentrified tourist trap. 

If you want to hide a tree, put it in a forest.

He gives his taxi driver a generous tip and then lifts his one and only suitcase out of the trunk and sets it on the sidewalk. It’s lightly packed to be so large. But that’s what happens when you leave everything you know in a hurry. 

It can’t be but 9PM but the August heat still permeates the air around him like a physical thing. It’s sweltering. The humidity makes it feel like Minho is going swimming. It’s only been two minutes since he climbed out of the air-conditioned vehicle but he’s already covered in sweat. “If it’s this shit at night, it’s gotta be complete ass in the middle of the day,” he gripes. Irritated, he slams the trunk closed and then beats a fist onto the roof twice, a signal for the taxi to leave. The driver honks once and then swings into a three-point turn and goes back out the way they came in. 

Minho looks down the narrow street in both directions. His hair sticks to the side of his face and his shirt clings to his chest in the heat. 

There’s not much to see from where he’s standing. A crooked, wooden sign painted white that reads ‘Welcome To Romance’ in big, boxy, blue letters. A few lone brick houses lit up by dim yellow lamp posts. An old stone bridge over a shallow, muddy river. The steeple of an old church barely visible on the other side of a hill.

He’s on the outskirts of town, far from the palm trees and houses on stilts. Far from the bars and clubs. Far from the white-sand beach and the limestone caves. Far from the breeze blowing in off the ocean.

That means the sidewalk is deserted at this time of night.

That means the person he’s staying with isn’t here to pick him up like they promised not even six hours ago.

Minho rolls his eyes. Great. Just great! He took a flight across the country and sat in an uncomfortably bumpy taxi just to get here tonight. And his ride can’t even remember the time they agreed on? Minho is exhausted and all he wants to do is find the nearest bed and sleep until dawn. Until noon! That sounds even better. He digs a hand into his pocket and pulls free his phone, surprised he’s still got so much battery left after such a long day. He scrolls through his contacts until he finds the name he’s looking for and then connects the call.

After the first two rings go unanswered, his irritation doubles. This is what he gets for trusting a friend of a friend of a friend with a big favor like this.

After the next two rings, his frustration turns to apprehension as he briefly imagines he’s gotten scammed and wasted the money and time coming out here.

It takes six rings, a split-second before voicemail picks up, when a rough voice filters through from the other end. “Hello?”

“Is this Changbin?” Minho asks.

“Yeah… Who is--” A pause. “Minho?” Another pause. “Oh shit! Sorry, dude. I’m at work. I picked up an extra shift. I must have gotten my days mixed up. I thought today was tomorrow!”

Minho resists the urge to chuck his phone into the river. He resists the urge to scream that they’d texted each other about this _ earlier today _ . “Can you come and get me? Damn.”

“I can’t, actually. I’m still on the clock.” 

Minho checks his watch and groans. “Well, what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

There’s noise on the other end as Changbin shuffles around. As he shouts away from the phone at someone else and gets a shouted-back response Minho can’t decipher. Then Changbin’s voice is clear in his ear again. “Just stop by here. You’re at the bus stop by the bridge, right? It’s not far from you, I promise. Uhh… Just come by. I’ll give you the keys. Then you can go to my house and unpack. I get off at two. You won’t be by yourself long.”

It’s the only option Minho’s got so he takes it. “Text me the address.”

◒

Changbin slings drinks at one of the bars. 

The place is a few blocks west of the boardwalk, near the center of town, and the interior is a little more upscale than Minho expects.

“You were thinking this is a strip joint,” Changbin asks from the other side of the huge wood counter, eyebrow raised.

Minho explains himself, “with a name like Plush, yeah.”

“The name has changed a few times but, oh, trust me. Around here, you’ll  _ know _ if a place is a strip joint.” Changbin looks right at home standing behind the bar. His black hair is coiffed. His bowtie is perfectly straight. His shirt is crisply starched. He finishes drying the glass in his hand with a towel, sets it down on a rack, picks up another glass to dry. The bar’s moody, reddish-pink lighting casts strong shadows across his handsome face. “Sorry about leaving you out to dry. I just… genuinely forgot, you know? Shit’s been hectic. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Ugh. It’s like I can’t go a day--”

“I get it,” Minho interrupts. Although Changbin had poured him a drink (“On the house!”), Minho only holds the glass in his hand to swirl the liquid and ice around. He’s too tired and too hungry and too cranky to drink. Plus, he really doesn’t want to lose track of his suitcase. “Everybody’s got something going on.” But this isn’t exactly when Minho wants to have this conversation. “You gonna go get your keys? Any time soon?”

Changbin sighs. He lets his smile falter only the tiniest bit. “When Chan’s off break, I can go get them.” He sees Minho’s screwed-up, sour expression. “Ten minutes max, Minho.”

Minho wants to scream and stir up a fuss but he’s too drained to summon that kind of anger. He has to remember that Changbin’s going out on a limb here. Probably risking more than he is. Changbin’s accepting a stranger into his home just like Minho’s trying to stay in a stranger’s home. It’s a delicate balance here and shit can really go either way. The least Minho can do is get them off on the right foot. At least make it through the first night. “Sorry,” he manages. And he means it.

Changbin dries off another glass. Sets it aside. Picks up another. “Long day, I’m guessing?”

“You can say that.” 

“Care to explain? I’m all ears. Got nothing but time.”

Minho says the least rude thing he can think of. “Traveling sucks.” He slowly spins on his bar stool to get a better look around. 

Plush is… nice.

Not so ritzy and done up that he feels under-dressed but the place does have some class.

It’s got a quiet, lowkey crowd. Everyone dressed prim and proper in dresses or dress shirts instead of the bathing suits, flip-flops and kitschy tees Minho was sort of fearing.

There’s a strong, earthy smell that sticks heavy in the air of the bar. A wood-burning stove, he imagines. Sweet smelling smoke mixing with the distinctive scent of seafood. Fried fish salted to perfection. Roasted vegetables. Grilled chicken. Spices. It’s a hearty scent and goes well with the saxophone-heavy neo soul floating down from the speakers and all of the red leather chairs and dark woods that make up the place.

Minho hasn’t been to a vampire-friendly bar in a hot minute. No matter where you go in the country, no matter how they are furnished, vampire bars all give off the same vibe. Like a mild static charge in the air that raises the hair on your arms, on the back of your neck. 

When Minho spins all the way back around on his stool, until his ankles hit his suitcase, Changbin has gone halfway down the bar to take a woman’s drink order. Her dress is bright yellow and glitters faintly beneath the lights. She doesn’t feel like a vampire.

For that matter, Changbin doesn’t either. Minho’s not sure if that comes as a relief or not but it’s a question he can’t believe he didn’t ask way before, when they were first introduced.

Minho catches sight of his own reflection in the mirror behind the shelves of liquor and he’s shocked that he doesn’t look half as tired as he feels. His black hair is shorter than he’s used to wearing it, revealing more of his pretty face than he’s used to showing off. His round eyes and tiny, button nose and heart-shaped lips do the kind of standing out that he’s not really supposed to be doing when he’s running away. The large aviator shades tucked into the front collar of his pin-striped shirt makes him look more like a douchebag than he hopes he actually is. 

He looks… okay. He looks well. He looks like he’s  _ recovered _ . And that’s more than he can ask for after the past week.

Another man in a bowtie and starched shirt and black apron walks behind the bar and says something to Changbin in a voice too low for Minho to catch.

A coworker? Must be the ‘Chan’ that Changbin mentioned earlier.

They speak back and forth, hardly looking at each other but understanding each other all the same. Changbin’s eyes dart in Minho’s direction and, a breath later, Chan looks over at him as well. The moment is brief but Minho still knows when he’s being talked about. He’s not dumb. The two bartenders must switch topics because both of their moods change. One of them cracks a joke and they both laugh. Changbin puts a hand on Chan’s lower back and runs his thumb across the groove of Chan’s spine. The touch lasts just long enough for Minho to bite his cheek and look away, feeling like he’s encroaching.

Changbin leans over the bar, grins wide and says something to one of the patrons he’s been tending to, jerking his thumb in Chan’s direction in a way that obviously means ‘he’ll be taking over for a little while.’

Minho lets go of the last bit of his impatience and brings his guard down. Finally. He’s got next to nothing to worry about. The town’s no hamlet tucked away in some forgotten corner like he’d have preferred but, at the very least, Changbin is no catfish. The man looks just like he does on Instagram. Thick eyebrows, sharp cheekbones and a flat jaw. He’s tan from being under the sun and he’s bulky with muscle, visible even beneath his shirt. He honestly looks more like a bouncer than a bartender, but his small hands fluidly handle the bottles and glasses and ice cube tongs like he’s been doing this for years. Minho should probably thank Jisung for introducing the two of them and being the middleman while they made all of these hurried arrangements. Though Minho kind of wants to wait until he sees the house before he shows too much gratitude. If he’s staying in some kind of dump, he’d have been better off shelling out the money for a hotel or renting his own damn place.

Changbin sits the drink he’s made on the counter in front of a gray-bearded man who absolutely _ is  _ a vampire and then walks the length of the bar, untying the apron around his waist and hanging it from the edge of one of the drink shelves. Changbin taps his fingers across the counter as he passes where Minho’s lounging on the stool. “Sit tight. I’ll go get the keys,” he says, barely slowing down.

Minho just nods and watches him walk out from behind the bar and cross the floor to the swinging doors at the back of the building.

Minho checks his watch again. It’s after 10PM and he wonders if this is about as crowded and loud as this bar gets on Friday nights. 

Chan approaches Minho then. The smell of cigarette smoke clings to him like cologne. His curly, frizzy hair looks like it has barely survived his last bleach job, but his eyes are kind and his smile is genuine. “Need a refill, my man?”

Minho moves his hands away from his glass and reveals that it’s still nearly full. The ice is melting. Diluting the liquor.

“Let me know if you need to get topped off.”

“I don’t plan on staying long,” Minho corrects. “Not even ten more minutes. Not even five.”

“Shame,” Chan says.

And you’d think that would be the end of the conversation but Chan continues to linger. He splays a hand across the surface of the counter and leans his weight on it like he’s getting comfortable. He watches Minho for a moment.

Just shy of the silence becoming unbearable, Minho asks, “What?”

“Changbin told me all about you,” says Chan.

And that surprises Minho because there’s not all that much about himself that he’s told Changbin.

Chan must spot the apprehension on his face. He waves a hand. “Nothing awful, man. Just that shit’s tough so you had to pack up and you need a cheap place to stay for a few weeks.”

Minho heaves a sigh. “That’s the gist of it. I promise to be out of your-- Out of Changbin’s hair before the weather gets too cold.”

“Take your time, my man. We’ve all been there. We’ve all needed a couch to crash on. If you swing by on weekdays,” Chan continues, “I can get you a free drink.”

“Thanks,” says Minho. He’ll probably be in desperate need for a few drinks sooner than he wants to be. "I appreciate it."

Chan nods and wanders away. Minho can’t help but watch him move as he laughs and chats with the other bar patrons. His charisma doesn’t scorch everything around him like Jisung’s does. Instead, it burns low. Steady and warm. And Minho can literally see how swiftly Chan gets people at the bar to ease up and smile back at him. Chan’s a touch taller than Changbin, with broader shoulders and a tight, slim waist. There’s just enough of his forearm visible beneath his rolled-up sleeve for Minho to spot the edge of a tattoo. And even that smidgen of arm looks bulky with muscles and veins. Do all of the bartenders here work out like this? Is it a requirement for their pecs to strain against their shirts as they shake ice in the tumbler? Then again, this is the beach. Perhaps the vanity just comes with the ocean breeze. 

“You gonna keep ignoring me, stranger?” The voice is lowly spoken--not too much louder than a whisper--but there’s something heavy and sharp about it that makes a chill jolt up Minho’s spine.

He sits up straight like snapping out of a dream and then looks to his left long enough to meet eyes with the man on the stool next to him. 

The guy chuckles. “I promise you, I’m more fun to stare at than the bartender.”

Minho turns back to face the bar, “We don’t know that yet.”

“Been trying to get your attention for a couple seconds now. Figured we could talk.”

Minho looks over at the man again. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

“I’m trying to  _ get _ to know you.”

Minho scoffs. He realizes a bit too late that he’s being hit on. And by a vampire, no less. He didn’t think he was the type vampires went for. “Well, get to know someone else. There’s not much here to see.”

“Says who?”

“Me.”

“Come on. Let’s chat,” the vampire coos. “I can tell just by looking at you that you’re new to town. Let me show you the sights.”

Minho looks away from him again. “The only sight I want to see right now is a bed and, no, that is not an invitation.” He cuts a sideways glance in the man’s direction, frowning.

The vampire tilts his head and smiles at him. “I’d at least take you to dinner first.”

“Do you even eat out?”

“Yeah. Better than you can imagine.” 

There’s an obvious double entendre there and Minho feels a weird little jolt through his system at the words. A spot in the crook of his neck tingles with what he hopes isn’t anticipation. Goosebumps flare down his arm and he hides it by folding his arms across his chest. “Well, last I checked, I’m not on this place’s menu.” Minho looks the vampire up and down. Not caring about being subtle. The guy’s got decent dress shoes. Lean, shapely thighs crammed into tight, cream-colored slacks. A peach-tinted button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show off the watch on his wrist. Several of the top buttons on his shirt are undone, revealing  _ just enough _ of his chest along with the gold necklace draped over his collarbones. His outfit feels understated but that’s simply to allow his face to steal the show. He’s handsome. Almost frighteningly so. Thick, pink, gloss-covered lips wrap around the stick of a lollipop as he pushes it from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue. His hair is bleached blonde, a single lock of it done up in a braid, the rest snatched high in a ponytail. Minho looks him in the eyes again and he feels that same anticipatory shiver race up his spine. “Are you glamouring me?”

“No. I’d never. I swear.”

“Good.” So that means this feeling is Minho’s own. It sits at the bottom of his gut. Hot like attraction but also freezing cold like fear. Vampires are a bit too much for him to handle and the smirk on the man’s face is just cold, hard evidence of that. Minho looks away from the man. “And don’t try another pick-up line on me. They do not work.” Against his better judgment, he lifts his glass of watered-down liquor to his mouth and downs half of it in one swallow. He barely notices the burn in his throat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He slides off the bar stool and grabs the handle of his suitcase.

The stranger watches him the entire time. The bar’s reddish-pink lights seem to get caught in his eyes and his irises glow with a light of their own as he stares. “What’s your name?”

“What’s your name,” Minho fires the question right back. He’s not in the mood to flirt. Not tonight. He gulps down the last of the liquor in his glass, so fast that he nearly chokes on a chunk of ice.

“Hyunjin,” the man answers the question. “Can I get your name?”

Minho will give him credit. This Hyunjin guy doesn’t look put-out at all by Minho’s icy attitude. In fact, he looks all the more determined. Minho rolls his eyes. “Minho.” He sits his empty glass back on the bar. “I'm leaving.”

“Will I see you again,” Hyunjin questions. “Maybe when you’re feeling better?”

Minho doesn’t even hit him with a ‘maybe.’ He doesn’t even look over and meet his eyes one last time. Minho doesn’t want to give the guy any kind of hope. He just walks away dragging his suitcase behind him and meets Changbin halfway as the guy crosses the hardwood floors back towards the bar.

Took him long enough.

“Please tell me you don’t live on the other side of town.”

“Not really,” Changbin answers. “Like four blocks? Five? Down towards the beach.”

Minho squeezes his eyes shut, partially out of irritation, partially out of exhaustion. His whole body is sore and tired. Mind and spirit. He needs a break. He needs  _ something _ in his life to just go smoothly. He needs something good to just  _ happen _ and help him forget all this other shit.

Changbin reaches out and grabs him by the shoulder. “You alright, man?”

“Just ready to get out of here,” Minho states. Maybe the walk will do him good. He needs some fresh air.

“Here’s the house key,” Changbin says. He struggles to work one of the keys off of his key ring. “I’ll text you the exact address.”

Minho reaches out, takes the key ring from him and slips the silver key off with a swift twist of his wrist. “How close to the beach is it?” Minho hands the rest of the keys back to his host.

“Not right on it but still a good view.”

Better than nothing, Minho concludes.

“This is gonna sound so cliche but leave the key under the mat so I can get in,” Changbin tells him. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge. Just don’t touch my ice cream.”

“Will do,” Minho says.

“I can show you around the neighborhood tomorrow. Point out all the best stores and shit.”

“You have any pets I need to worry about?”

“No,” Changbin says. “I’m not home long enough to take care of one.”

“Fair.” 

“Your room’s across the hall from the bathroom. I don’t really care what you do in there. Just don’t fuck up the walls or scuff the floor or break any of the furniture, I guess.”

Minho stares at him. “I’m sorry. What? Is that a common thing people do when they stay over?”

“You’d be surprised.”

Minho fights back a hiccup. His chest bubbles from the alcohol and he chastises himself for chugging it all at once. It’s probably gonna hit him like a truck before he even gets to Changbin’s house. Maybe it’ll help him sleep. “See you later, then,” he says. Then he gives Changbin a wave before he drags his suitcase towards the door.

“Hey, Minho?” Changbin calls after him. 

“Yeah,” Minho looks over at him. “What is it?”

Changbin gives him a smile. “Welcome to Romance.”

◒

Romance comes to life closer to the beach. 

The boardwalk is far from the town’s geographical center but it is clearly where her heart resides. Despite the late hour, everything is brighter, louder, and more saturated on the narrow street that runs parallel to the boardwalk. Cords of fairy lights and colorful lanterns are strung up between almost all of the pastel-painted buildings, casting splotches of multi-colored light in all directions. Dance music spills out the open doors of a neon-lit club. An outdoor bar has a live band covering early 2000s pop songs on the stage out back. At the big plaza with the stone fountain, there are four or five food trucks with different menus, all of them with long lines of fiending customers. A woman with hair bleached so white it glows beneath a blacklight slaps temporary tattoo stickers on the backs of the hands of anyone who holds their arm out.

Minho ignores it all. 

He just follows the directions Changbin gave him to a tiny, old house with faded wood paneling at the very end of the street and hoists his suitcase up the sagging stairs to get to the front door.

The lock is tricky. He spends a perilous few seconds thinking he’s got the wrong house before the key turns and the door opens.

The air conditioning is turned delightfully low and the chill smacks Minho in the face as he kicks off his shoes and trudges across the tiled floor of the kitchen, lugging his suitcase behind him. The house is clean but more sparsely decorated than Minho expects. There are just enough empty corners and stacks of cardboard boxes that gets Minho thinking Changbin’s in a transitory position himself, either still moving in or moving out the memories of someone else. The only light on is the one above the stove. The rest of the house is cast in shadow save for the few slashes of moonlight that pour in through the blinds. Minho doesn’t turn any lights on. He doesn’t spend any time peering at any family photographs on the walls or on the shelves or on the tables. He doesn’t even really stop to take a good look around the place. He just finds the hallway past the den and goes straight to the guest bedroom across from the bathroom.

There is not much to look at. Little more than a full-size bed, a dresser and a nightstand. All of it looks like mix-matched hand-me-downs. All of it is big and sturdy and heavy in the way they  _ used _ to make furniture. This house has probably been in Changbin’s family a few generations, Minho thinks. It definitely looks like it hasn’t been spruced-up in decades.

The view out the window, at least, is a little breathtaking. The house isn’t right on the beach just like Changbin said. It also isn’t directly in front of the boardwalk. But that just means the view down the dune and to the white sand is uninterrupted and if Minho gets up on his tiptoes and cranes his neck, he can see the moon reflecting off the water. He can just barely make out the white froth of the waves as they crash against the coast. And the lighthouse way off in the distance swings a blur of bluish-white light out into the night.

Minho takes a deep breath in through his nose and lets it out. 

He’s  _ here _ .

He’s gotten away from anything and everything holding him back. 

He can start fresh.

With that kind of freedom flying around his head, Minho drifts through his nighttime routine--brushing his teeth and washing his face and changing into his pajamas--and falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

◒

Hyunjin invades Minho’s dreams for the briefest of moments before Minho stirs awake.

It’s not much, but then again, it doesn’t always have to be. Just a ripple can cause waves.

Minho practically feels his consciousness rise up and up and out of the dark ocean of sleep and, right there at the surface, right before he sucks in air, he sees Hyunjin.

Just the glow of Hyunjin’s narrowed eyes, the velvet pink of his lips, the sharp hook of his nose, the dancer-like grace of his slender fingers. A smile. A flash of fangs. And then the dream fades like smoke as Minho sits up and rubs at his eyes.

Minho looks around, confused and a little afraid, having forgotten where he is.

The mattress is old and noisy and stiff beneath him as he yanks off the flower-patterned comforter and crawls to the edge of the bed, swings his legs over the edge to put his feet on the floor. The room is unfamiliar. Strange. The floors are hardwood where he expects carpet. The walls are pale green like seafoam where he expects beige. It smells different from his old apartment. Like vanilla and lemon and saltwater. Sunlight pours through the windows and crawls up and across the walls when he’s used to the sun never touching his bedroom until late afternoon. The difference is enough to unsettle him, to make him slap a hand to his chest, but then he remembers that he’s in Romance now, sleeping in Changbin’s house, a stone’s throw from the beach. 

Minho sighs in relief. Crisis averted. He’ll have to get used to waking up here soon.

He runs a hand through his hair. His fingers snag in a few loose tangles. Then he drags his palm across his face and down his neck as a yawn tugs his mouth wide open. It takes him a moment to understand that he feels so good right now because he’s so well rested.

“Haven’t slept like that in a month,” he sighs. “Needed it.”

Maybe this whole ‘escaping’ thing will actually work for him despite Jisung’s naysaying.

The chilly air conditioning he praised right before bed is almost too cold for him now that he’s in his thin, short pajamas. He hurriedly pulls on his socks before he stands up and leaves the room.

Changbin’s house feels so different during the day, flooded with light. Minho can see the dust motes float in the air when they travel through the sunbeams. He walks down the hallway very slowly to give himself a chance to admire the old photographs on the walls and the antiques sitting in glass cases. He’s done a full lap around the house when he thinks of looking for a clock. There’s one at the very end of the hall, the face dingy and yellow with age.

It’s nearly noon but Changbin is still asleep if his shut-tight bedroom door says anything. Minho decides not to disturb him. Keeping up the work hours he does, it’s probably common for Changbin to sleep away the daylight. Minho tips back up the hallway, goes to the kitchen and examines the contents of the fridge and cabinets for anything he can throw together for breakfast.

He digs out the last two eggs in the carton, finds a nearly empty box of flavorless wheat cereal, and then discovers that all that’s left of a loaf of bread are the ends.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he complains.

But he makes do.

◒

Changbin isn’t out of bed until after 4PM.

That’s fine. He’s allowed.

Minho spends the majority of the afternoon unpacking his suitcase, figuring out how to operate the fancy coffee machine on the kitchen counter, and then taking a mug of coffee (one pack of sugar, one dollop of cream) out onto the balcony to sit on one of the chairs and watch what little bit of the ocean he can see from here.

It’s therapeutic. 

The sun on his face. The sea breeze in his hair. The roar of the waves in his ears. Even the coffee is phenomenal. Sharp and crisp and hot.

It lets him…  _ decompress _ .

Minho relaxes into the chair and takes shallow sips of his coffee. It’s been a shit couple of days but he peels it off of his body like a snake sheds its skin.

He’s only out there for about thirty minutes before he has company.

“You should wear sunscreen,” Changbin says. His voice is still croaky with sleep.

The man sits down on the patio chair next to Minho with his own mug of coffee in one hand, so much milk and cream in the beverage that it’s almost white. In his other hand is a tube of sunscreen, which he sits on the tiny table between them.

Minho doesn’t take it. _ Later _ , he thinks. When he’s not so comfortable.

“You sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Minho answers.

“You didn’t have any trouble finding Romance, did you?”

“Taxi driver brought me straight in. They knew the way. I’m not the first to want to come.” And perhaps, last night, he wouldn’t have been too sure, but beneath the afternoon sun, Romance is beautiful.

“Well, what do you think of the place,” Changbin asks after a while, his eyes on the sky as a plane passes low overhead.

“It’s great,” Minho says. “Comfortable. Nice. Thanks for giving me a roof.”

“No problem.” 

When they slam up against the awkwardness of the stilted conversation, Minho gets the feeling that Changbin came out here to ask him something specific. Not just chat about the house and the drive. But if Changbin’s not going to ask, Minho won’t set anything up for him. He remembers the bare kitchen cabinets and starts, “If we can get some grocery shopping done today…”

Changbin follows. “Yes, of course. My usual store is right down the block from here.”

Minho looks over at him for the first time since the man sat down. Just like the house, just like Romance, Changbin looks entirely different during the day. He looks so much softer and rounder with his hair down, with no eyeliner on, in a baggy shirt that doesn’t cling to his fit body.

Changbin looks up at him and meets his eye. “Let’s finish our coffee. Then I’ll get ready. We can go shopping then.”

That suits Minho’s needs. He’s not in a rush. Sitting on the balcony is fun. The view of the ocean is oddly soothing. And it’s not like he’s got anything planned. 

Suddenly, Changbin points. “You see that sailboat? Way out there?”

Minho turns his head and has to squint against the glare of the sun on the ocean waves but he can see the boat. “It’s gorgeous.”

Changbin takes a noisy sip of his coffee. “Jisung didn’t really tell me too much but like… why did you have to leave your old town in such a hurry?”

Ahh. There it is.

The subject change is whiplash-inducing. And it’s a personal question that Minho is just dying to deflect but he figures he owes Changbin the bare minimum. He looks over at the man. “Had to get away from some friends… God. Well… I wouldn’t call them friends now.” And that’s kind of as deep as he wants to go into it.

Fortunately, Changbin is satisfied. He finishes his mug of coffee, sits it down on the table between them and then gives Minho a look as if Jisung’s told him more of the story than what Minho’s just told him. “You can stay as long as you need to,” he says. “I won’t ask for rent or anything. Just contribute to groceries and other stuff. Keep the place clean. Don’t make too much noise when I’m asleep. Don’t invite in any vampires. You know… The basics.”

But Minho’s not having any of that, as ideal of a situation as it is. 

He’s got to go back to his hometown eventually. He’s got to face Felix eventually. Minho turns back around to look at the ocean. The sailboat is out of sight. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll be gone before September’s over,” Minho promises.

◒

Changbin goes inside to shower.

Minho spends five more minutes outside on the balcony before he gathers their empty mugs and the untouched tube of sunscreen and heads indoors. The AC on his sun-warmed skin is a welcome relief. Minho decides to make himself useful. He cleans up around the house while he waits for Changbin to finish up. He washes the dishes in the kitchen sink. Then he wipes down the kitchen counters and the stove. He grabs all of his clothes and starts up a load of laundry. Minho finds the broom and dustpan behind the dryer and sweeps the kitchen, the den and his newly-acquired bedroom. Across the hall in the bathroom, he finds the cleaning supplies beneath the sink and uses them to scrub out the toilet and tub.

All in all, it takes him nearly an hour and a half.

By the time Changbin is actually shaved, dressed and ready to go, it’s long after 6PM and the sun is starting to go down. It paints the sky pink and orange and red-violet. The light stretches shadows across the sidewalk and grass.

“You’ve got to understand,” Changbin says when he spots the cross look on Minho’s face. “When your main clientele are vampires, you’re the most active when vampires are.”

So Minho shelves all of his complaints and then follows Changbin out the front door and down the steps.

There are plenty of other people out and about and Changbin knows a handful of them. Nearly every dozen steps, they pause so that Changbin can greet and catch up with whoever it is he runs across. Friends of friends. Frequent patrons of the bar. Old college buddies. Gym partners. There’s Jeongin, who works at Changbin’s favorite bookstore on the other side of town. There’s Seungmin, who helps his parents at the fish market in the mornings. Both of them ask Changbin, “How are things going with Chan?”

At last, Minho and Changbin make it to the grocery store. Inside, they grab baskets and split up to hit the aisles faster. Changbin towards the bread aisle. Minho to the freezer section. They also split the grand cost since they must split bag-carrying efforts. Forty minutes later, they’ve stocked up on a week’s worth of food, cleaning stuff and other supplies. By the time they’ve walked all of it back down the road to Changbin’s house and unpacked everything, it’s dusk and both of them are sweaty and starving.

Minho is moving his laundry from the washer to the dryer when Changbin suggests they go back out for dinner. “The night’s just beginning, you know.”

And the only other alternative is to stay inside half the night. Minho says, “Let’s go.”

They change clothes.

Changbin discards his oversize shirt and baggy jeans in favor of a form-fitting tank top and swim trunks.

Minho slips into a scoop-neck shirt and a pair of distressed denim shorts.

His stomach rumbling, Changbin suggests they hit up the beach bar.

“You want to go to a bar when you work at a bar,” Minho asks.

“If you worked at PacSun, would you just stop buying clothes?”

So they go to the beach bar.

It’s right on the sand. It’s a little kitschy, with all of the wooden parrots and flamingos everywhere, but it’s just kooky enough to convince Minho that the food’s  _ got _ to be good. No restaurant is ever both tacky and awful. It’s usually one or the other. There are long canopies of orange and teal and yellow fabric that stretch from the roof to anchors in the ground that, during the day, act as sun shades but, at night, simply flutter in the wind and catch the orange glow of all of the lights. The citronella torches around the perimeter burn brightly and smell oddly of lemons. Changbin leads him down a short flight of stairs and around a few small tables. Minho realizes that this is the same ramshackle, thatched-roof place with the stage where the live band had been playing yesterday evening. And even though it is Saturday evening, there is no performing act tonight. The stage sits off to the side, dark and covered in sand. Quiet and still.

That’s fine. The dreamy, upbeat pop music coming through the scratchy speakers above the bar is enough for Minho. He doesn’t want anything to drown out the roar of the waves and the whistle of the wind behind them.

The two of them ignore the picnic tables and sit right at the bar. Changbin must be a regular because the bartender calls out to him by name. Changbin and Minho both put in orders for grilled shrimp kebabs over rice and glasses of fruity mixed drinks with umbrellas in them. The bartender slides them their cocktail glasses before she turns to handle someone else at the far end of the bar. 

While they wait for their food, Minho asks, “What’s the deal with you and Chan?” Because it’s kind of been on his mind since last night at Plush.

Changbin nods and half-chuckles as if he’s been quietly anticipating the question. As if he’s pleasantly surprised Minho’s gone this long without asking. “He can see whoever the hell he wants to see.” He raises his glass to his mouth and takes a sip. “And I can see whoever I want to see.” He sets the glass back down on the counter. He tries to hide the smitten smile on his face by wiping his hand across his mouth. “But we can always see each other whenever.”

Minho cuts through all of the poetic bullshit. “You’re in an open relationship. You can fuck around.”

Changbin inhales sharply and then exhales slowly. “Yes.” 

“Seems ideal, don’t you think,” Minho questions. He takes a tentative sip of his bright blue drink. It’s extremely sour but the kick hides the burn of the alcohol. A pretty dangerous combination. He takes another swig. “All the fun of commitment without any actual commitment.”

“It takes more commitment than you can imagine,” Changbin corrects. “It took us two whole months of hashing things out and discussing what we wanted and establishing boundaries before we found the rules that worked for us. You don’t do that kind of back-and-forth with someone you’re not committed to.”

And when he puts it like that, Minho sees his point. And maybe it’s because he  _ didn’t _ spend all of that time trying to verbalize his boundaries that led Felix to walking all over them.

But what happens in Heartbreak stays in Heartbreak. Minho’s not ready to go back yet.

Minho takes another sip of his drink. “If you ever want to fuck around with me, I’m right down the hall.”

Changbin looks up at Minho then. He sort of half-smiles and his eyes crinkle up in the corners a little like he’s finally letting down his guard. “Jisung was right. You don’t beat around the bush.”

Minho takes it as a compliment. “I like being straightforward.” 

“Except when it comes to your own shit,” Changbin fires back.

And Minho can’t even be too mad about that because he sure as hell deserves it. He knows he’s been prickly and defensive since he stepped out of the taxi. But there is something about Romance that makes it difficult to stay ice-cold. It can’t just be the beach. He’s been to several before. It must be something else. Something…  _ different _ . “I’ll try to be more open.”

“Alright then. Let’s start with easy shit. What did you do back in your old town? Back in Heartbreak?”

Get emotionally led around by Felix, Minho thinks. “Worked at a science museum,” he actually answers. “And before you ask me for random physics facts, I worked in the gift shop.”

Changbin snorts. “Doesn’t necessarily mean you don’t know any random physics facts.”

Changbin’s got him there. “True. But in this case, I’m no secret genius.” 

The bartender comes back with their two plates on a tray and slides the sizzling dishes towards them. 

Oh, it looks good! The shrimp is charred to perfection on the skewers, so fresh off the grill that it’s still steaming. Chunks of grilled vegetables and peppers are wedged between the shrimp and the smell is more intoxicating than any alcohol. There is a cup of mildly spicy sauce sitting on the plate next to his pile of rice. Minho grabs it and dumps the sauce all over his meal before he lifts one of the wooden skewers to his mouth and works off a chunk of red bell pepper with his teeth. Damn. Even the peppers are good. Lightly seasoned. Wonderfully roasted.

“If you’re so quick to fling yourself at me, you must know your way around a relationship,” says Changbin.

Minho refuses to think about Felix again. “I’m no novice.”

“You think anyone here in Romance will catch your eye?”

“Not too sure yet.”

“Okay. So what about that vampire you met at the bar last night,” Changbin asks. He’s far more greedy with his meal and uses two fingers to slide half of the shrimp and vegetables on one of his skewers into his mouth. 

Minho watches him chew out of the corner of his eye. “What about him?”

Changbin sticks his tongue out to get some cool air on the sizzling food heaped on his tongue. With great effort he swallows and then washes down the food in his mouth with a gulp of his brightly-colored drink. “You two seemed pretty into each other from what I saw.”

And Minho almost laughs because he can’t at all imagine how he’d been  _ into _ Hyunjin last night. Yet, before he can even stop the thought, he’s picturing Hyunjin’s handsome face and stylish hair in his head. The look Hyunjin gave him at the bar. The smile. And the reddish shadows the bar’s lighting cast across his features. It all comes back to him in snatches but he recalls Hyunjin’s soft voice near his ear. Wow. The vampire had been flirting with him  _ hard _ . And perhaps Minho had been kind of rude. “Maybe I am into him. But--” He nibbles off of his kebab again. A small bite of one of the shrimp. The flesh is supple and juicy and he moans in satisfaction as he chews and swallows. “But it’s not like I’m ever going to see him again.”

“I don’t know about that,” Changbin says. “Romance is smaller than you think.” He points.

Minho twists around on his bar stool and even though the place is quite crowded, his eyes almost instantly snap to the far edge of the property. Out on the sand, standing next to one of the torches, Hyunjin looms. Half his face is orange from the fire. The other half is silver with moonlight. He’s so handsome that he looks unreal. Hyunjin’s shorts expose his muscular thighs. His sheer white shirt does little to hide the sculpt of his body and the wind constantly lifts it to display the flat plane of his stomach and the dip of his navel. His eyes are already on Minho, like he’s been watching him for a while, and the tiniest smile crosses his lips when he sees Minho looking back.

Hurriedly, Minho faces forward again. “Why are the hotties always undead?” He can feel the flaming heat of attraction turn his entire face hot and pink. “How long has he been standing there?”

Changbin takes a few moments to answer, his mouth full of more food. He swallows it down and says, “I’m usually shit at remembering faces but--”

“He stands out from all the rest?” 

“I looked over and spotted him about as soon as we got our meal.”

“Is that why you suddenly asked about him?”

“Guilty as charged.” Changbin gulps down more of his drink. “I swear I’m not trying to set you up or anything. I legit just looked over and saw that the guy was there.”

Minho can sense that much. He can tell Changbin doesn’t even know Hyunjin’s name. “What does a guy like that want with a guy like me?”

“Why don’t you go over there and ask,” Changbin easily suggests. Then he stops chewing to give Minho a second look. He had been joking earlier but now he’s serious. “Are you afraid? Of vampires?”

“N-no,” says Minho, quickly. Felix flickers through his head. “Of course not. I’ve just… been told I’m unappetizing.” 

Changbin steals a kebab off of Minho’s plate and Minho does not notice because he’s staring at his hands folded in his lap. Changbin huffs, “I don’t think that vampire will agree with that.”

“How do you figure?”

“Go over there and find out for yourself, why don’t you? I’ll watch over your plate.” He’s already pulling the plate of half-finished food away from Minho.

Minho’s never been one to hesitate for too long. After taking one deep breath, he stands up off of the stool and crosses the shell-covered sand to where Hyunjin eagerly waits for him.

For several long seconds, they just look at each other. They just take each other in like this is some fairy tale and they’re falling in love. Hyunjin is actually breathtaking up close, and it’s not just because his vampire anatomy makes the air around him crackle like he carries a static charge. Minho finds himself unable to look away and he knows it’s because he’s so deeply, immensely attracted. No vampire glamour necessary. It’s a really easy feeling to want to dive headfirst into, Minho discovers. This is going to fuck him up. He knows this. He’s not ready to deal with vampires again, yet--

Hyunjin asks, “In a better mood tonight?”

“I’m not exhausted from a long flight and a shit cab ride, if that’s what you mean.”

“Can I hit on you now?” At least Hyunjin is honest.

Minho snorts and rolls his eyes. “Say something corny and I’ll leave.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

A particularly strong gust of wind blows off of the moonlit ocean. Hyunjin holds a hand down over his bleached blonde hair to keep it in place but his eyes never leave Minho’s.

“Why are you interested in me,” Minho just has to ask.

“Because you smell so good.” More honesty.

It’s the exact opposite of what Minho’s heard from Felix. “You mean that?”

Hyunjin steps forward, puts the two of them body to body, and runs a cold, firm hand up Minho’s neck. He presses his thumb beneath Minho’s jaw to tilt his head back like they may kiss. His skin is so cold that Minho nearly shivers despite how warm the night is. Hyunjin says, “I mean that.”

But Minho’s heard sweet, sugary words like this before. He’s from Heartbreak and everyone there knows how to keep some distance between their hearts and everyone else’s. “I’m not looking for anything serious,” he states.

Hyunjin tears his gaze away from Minho’s neck to look him in the eye. “Same here. I’m just looking to have a bite.” Even more honesty. Laid so bare that it’s impossible to judge.

Minho looks over his shoulder. The establishment is crowded. Noisy. So many of the tables are packed and the smell of grilled seafood hangs heavy in the air. Minho’s eyes dance towards the bar which has filled almost entirely since Minho left. Changbin’s not even watching them. Minho turns back around and can’t even be surprised by how close their faces sit. “I have an idea.” He puts his hand on Hyunjin’s chest and pushes the taller man back. Minho can feel how solid Hyunjin is--like a brick wall--but Hyunjin lets himself be pushed backwards. He lets himself be moved. He lets Minho steer him farther and farther away from the firelight. Then Minho says, eagerly, “Bite me.”

And it’s all Hyunjin needs. He closes the distance between their faces in less than a blink and then kisses the air out of Minho’s lungs.

As Minho tilts his head and presses upward into the kiss, he can feel--he can  _ hear _ \--Hyunjin’s fangs split out of his gums. Minho’s tongue goes numb like he’s just chewed icy, minty gum. He pulls away from the kiss. “Shit. You squirting already?”

Hyunjin’s mouth drops open. Colorless venom drips from his fangs. “That’s just how wet you get me,” he explains himself.

That surprises a chuckle out of Minho. “You sure you’ll even last long enough to bite me?”

“I’m positive,” Hyunjin reassures him. Then he kisses Minho again. More firmly. His tongue darts into Minho’s mouth and drags across his flat, smooth teeth. 

Minho’s hand slides up Hyunjin’s chest and wraps possessively around Hyunjin’s neck. Hyunjin’s skin is cold and almost hard beneath Minho’s warm, grasping fingers. Minho’s tongue drags across one of Hyunjin’s fangs and his mouth floods with that icy cool feeling again. Like ice melting in his mouth and dripping down his throat. 

Hyunjin peels himself away from the kiss. His pink lips look half-swollen from Minho’s nibbles and bites. “I want to fang you.” 

Minho’s knees go weak at the words. At least he can say for a fact that Felix has never said that to him. But this stopped being about Felix a long time ago.

Hyunjin grabs Minho by the arm and pulls him even farther away from the noise and revelry that surrounds the outdoor bar.

It gives Minho time to catch his breath. Gives the numbness time to leave his mouth.

Perhaps it’s because Hyunjin has no pulse of his own, but Minho is all the more aware of how fast his blood pounds up his arm and through the tight circle of Hyunjin’s fingers around his wrist.

After several steps, the two of them make it quite some distance from the outdoor bar and now the sand beneath their shoes is damp and sticky from where the low tide sweeps in. It’s so quiet closer to the ocean. And the city lights don’t leech half as high up into the starry night sky as Minho fears they would. 

Hyunjin picks a secluded spot on the sand, slips an arm around Minho’s waist and guides him down, down, down until Minho’s flat on his back on the beach.

Minho doesn’t even care about getting sand in his hair. He just wants Hyunjin’s mouth on him again. So he reaches up with both hands, wraps them around Hyunjin’s throat and pulls him close. Pulls him until Hyunjin has to lay his long, heavy body down across Minho’s, his legs on either side of Minho’s hips. This kiss is softer. Less urgent. They take their time. Don’t even use tongue. As if they are both confident that they no longer have to work to keep each other. Minho never wants to pull away from Hyunjin’s soft lips. He wants to taste every part of Hyunjin. Cool and succulent and dangerous.

Fingers card through hair. Words are mumbled against mouths. 

Ages pass. Long enough that Minho  _ feels _ Hyunjin’s cold body warm from the transferal of his own body heat. So incredibly turned on, Minho lifts his hips and grinds his crotch into Hyunjin’s belly and the moan he gets in response makes him shiver. Finally satisfied, finally satiated, Minho lets his hands drop from Hyunjin’s shoulders. Hyunjin pulls his mouth away, his pupils blown so wide that his eyes look pitch black.

Hyunjin’s about to drink his fill. Why can’t Minho drink his? 

He watches Hyunjin’s blissed-out face until the vampire regains his composure, until the color seeps back into his eyes and he meets Minho’s gaze. 

“Fang me,” Minho urges. Nearly commands.

Hyunjin doesn’t need to be told twice. Already, he’s shifting on top of Minho. Twisting and turning his hips, stretching out his legs, dragging his long torso down Minho’s body so that the friction ignites a fire between Minho’s thighs.

For a moment, Minho is confused. He expected Hyunjin to make Minho turn his head and then sink those fangs into his neck, but instead, Hyunjin slides farther and farther away from Minho’s neck. Hyunjin crawls backward across the sand until he lays with his head between Minho’s propped-up knees. When he touches Minho’s thigh, his palm is warm from Minho’s body heat. When he slides the hem of Minho’s shorts up and up towards his crotch, Minho shivers as the wind gusts over the newly exposed skin.

This is different. But not so different that it’s strange.

“Can I,” Hyunjin asks. Even though he’s facing away from the moon, his eyes spark red.

Minho nods.

Hyunjin lowers his head between Minho’s thighs. 

Just the image alone is sinful. Decadent. Minho shudders. He wants to throw his head back and moan but he can’t look away from such a wickedly beautiful sight.

Hyunjin’s tongue dances across the meat of Minho’s inner thigh. Lightly at first. Exploratory. The swipes of his tongue send tiny little thrills of pleasure up Minho’s spine, makes him squeeze his thighs around Hyunjin’s head. Hyunjin lets it slide for a few seconds, then he makes a low growling noise at the back of his throat, puts a hand on Minho’s knee and applies just enough pressure to force Minho’s legs apart. Now his tongue moves more deliberately. It traces the veins in Minho’s leg farther up his thigh, closer to the heat of his groin.

Minho asks, “Is it good? Am I good?”

“Of course. You’re so excited,” Hyunjin hums. He pulls his mouth away from Minho’s skin to look up at him. “Your heart’s racing. I can hear it. I can feel it like it’s my own.”

Now Minho can’t hold his head up any longer. He drops it back onto the sand. Relaxes his neck. He arches his back off the ground. Spreads his legs wide to make it easier for Hyunjin to move. Reaches out a hand until he’s got a fistful of Hyunjin’s hair.

Hyunjin hums in satisfaction when Minho pulls on his hair, when Minho guides his head farther up his leg. Hyunjin grabs the hem of Minho’s shorts, yanks them up and out of his way. His palm comes to rest across Minho’s crotch and Minho resists the urge to rut upwards against the vampire’s hand.

Minho’s eyes drift closed and he becomes that much more aware of every place Hyunjin’s body touches his body. 

He can feel when Hyunjin’s found the perfect place. 

Hyunjin’s tongue stops wandering aimlessly and begins to move in gentle circles. Minho hisses when he feels Hyunjin’s fangs squirt venom across his heated skin. It’s almost  _ cold _ as it dribbles down his leg and it numbs accordingly. Tingles tingles tingles and then just muted sensation. Minho doesn’t feel Hyunjin’s circling tongue so much as he experiences the pressure of it against his body. And almost not even that.

“Gonna fang you,” Hyunjin mumbles, his words slurred with arousal.

And Minho barely has the time to grunt before Hyunjin bites down. “Oh, fuck,” Minho gasps out, louder and higher that he intends. God. He’s positive someone at the bar heard him! He yanks his voice down quieter, lower. Only to repeat, “Oh, fuck!”

Hyunjin pulls off of his skin long enough to say, “Keep still or it’ll hurt instead of feel good.” Then his mouth is back on Minho’s leg. 

Minho tries not to squirm. It feels so different from getting fanged in the neck. The pleasure is concentrated. Intoxicating. Minho’s senses block out nearly everything else except the mouth suctioned to his thigh. Hyunjin’s fangs push into his inner thigh. Gently. Slowly. Bit by bit. Hyunjin’s fangs are so big. So thick.

Will they even fit?

Minho sucks in a breath and tries his best to relax even as he feels the pinch of Hyunjin’s fangs through his numbness. He wants to put his hands on the back of Hyunjin’s neck, push him down and force the fangs in already, but he lets Hyunjin choose the pace. Let’s himself get lost in the tingle as more of Hyunjin’s venom oozes out of his mouth and coats Minho’s skin. Then, just like that, Minho cries out when he feels the sharpness break skin. Hyunjin is inside him. And the vampire slides his fangs in all of the way with one smooth, decisive slide.

“Fuck,” Minho whimpers. “Oh my… Oh my…” His eyes are already shut but he squeezes them tighter still as the pain burns through the numbness. Then he collapses onto the sand with a pleasurable sigh as the pain swirls into pleasure.

He can hear Hyunjin drinking from him. He can hear the vampire moan deep in his throat at the taste. He can hear the wet, gushy slurping noises as Hyunjin times his gulps with Minho’s pulse.

God, it feels good.

Is this why people like getting fanged so much?

Is this what he’s been missing? Fuck. He could get addicted to this.

Minho curls his toes in his shoes. He forces his eyes open and takes in the sky full of stars overhead. There’s just enough of Hyunjin’s venom in his veins that the constellations above him blur in front of his eyes. The moon smears. He shuts his eyes, opens them. Everything is in focus again. He sits up and looks between his legs at Hyunjin. At the man’s fucked-out expression, eyes half-lidded and cheeks bloated with Minho’s blood. He’s so fucking hot with his lips stained red, with his eyes glowing, with his hair a disheveled mess.

Minho’s made him that way and the thrill of such power shoots through his system. “Fuck,” he croaks out. Hyunjin tilts his head a little, presses his fangs in at a slightly different angle. Minho tries to buck his hips upward, tries to push his thigh harder against Hyunjin’s bite but the vampire has far more restraint than Minho pegs him for. Hyunjin presses a heavy hand on Minho’s knee until Minho relaxes his leg back onto the dry, scratchy sand.

The pleasure Minho feels morphs back to pain as alarm bells ring through Minho’s system, as his body warns him that he’s losing too much blood. “Are you close,” Minho asks, because he at least knows his body’s limits when he’s faced with them. 

Hyunjin can’t take much more from him.

Fortunately, Hyunjin senses Minho’s distress. He opens his mouth a little wider. A little bit of Minho’s blood escapes past his lips and flows down Hyunjin’s chin but it’s a necessary mess. Hyunjin laps out with his tongue and rapidly licks at Minho’s wound.

Minho’s leg goes numb as Hyunjin pumps a fresh wave of cold venom into his veins. 

Pulling out is so much smoother than pushing in. Hyunjin licks and licks at Minho’s holes until the bleeding stops and the wounds close. And then he licks some more until he’s cleaned Minho’s leg of every drop of crimson.

Minho doesn’t realize how tense he’s kept his body until then. With a grunt and a curse, he relaxes back onto the sand, breathing heavily, feeling empty. Spent.

“You good,” Hyunjin asks.

When Minho looks up at him, a tiny bolt of fear zings through him. Hyunjin looks every bit the fearsome creature of the night that he is with his pitch black irises and dripping fangs and blood-covered mouth. But he’s beautiful. “Really good,” Minho says.

Hyunjin wipes his chin with a hand, and then cleans off his bloody fingers with his tongue. “You taste just as good as you smell,” he states. As the hunger leaves him, his pupils noticeably constrict until they’re a normal size and the browns of his irises show through. He holds out a hand and Minho takes it and lets himself be hauled to his feet.

His legs are sturdier beneath him than he expects but Hyunjin keeps a steadying hand on his back just in case. “I should get back to my friend,” Minho says. Post-bite clarity sharpens his mind and reminds him of all the things he should stay away from. Getting involved with vampires is why he had to leave Heartbreak to begin with. He starts to walk back to the bar and is not surprised by how Hyunjin clings to his side as if there is some chill in the air and he can actually feel it.

“Thanks for tonight,” mumbles Hyunjin.

“It was fun.”

“Can I fang you again,” Hyunjin asks.

Minho turns away from the firelight on the horizon. He looks into Hyunjin’s eyes and almost goes on a rant about how he doesn’t plan on staying in the city long, how he’s not sure Romance is the place for him just yet, how he’s still thinking of going back to Heartbreak. But none of that leaves his mouth. He smiles.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Minho promises.

**Author's Note:**

> [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/TheSwingbyJHF)


End file.
